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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337834">A Boy Far Away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_furmary/pseuds/rose_furmary'>rose_furmary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:14:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337834</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_furmary/pseuds/rose_furmary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the song "Words" by Passenger.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Boy Far Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Something I started in 2017 but never finished. I like it and just thought I would share.</p><p>#On second thought, I'll try to get it done. Fingers cross.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Fall, 2007.</em>
</p><p>The wind was blowing feebly, shuffling the soft strands of a child’s hair. On the streets, people quietly hurried about their business, faces muffled up in woolen scarves and big collars. Every now and then, one or two gust would precede a display of oak leaves, a spectacle of red and gold exquisitely intertwined scattering the dull grey of London with an animated concoction of hot colours.</p><p><br/>
The park at this time of the year, as it seemed, had begun to be worn off of its bustling demeanour in favour of tranquility. Though idling away between lines of old trees never lost its appeal – sturdy trunks in all of their ancient wisdom, marked with the ineludible destruction of time that had rendered them austere and relentless, and even they had gone a bit soft around the edges. Amidst this idyll, Erik found it easier to lock out the unwieldy chain that had been weighing on his mind ever since the moment he took out the ring from across the table and slipped it into the delicate finger of Magda’s. For what it was worth.</p><p><br/>
He felt the soft crunches of dry leaves under his feet. Autumn was almost cathartic.</p><p><br/>
<em>“Wistful.”</em>
</p><p><br/>
<em>“Pardon?”</em>
</p><p><br/>
<em>“It makes you wistful. The atmosphere and the landscapes and all that, it makes you long for something. Usually it was simple family breakfast when I was younger, the colours always reminded me of my mother wearing her red dress and her blonde hair making pancakes. Though when I finally came to terms with the fact that she would never even manage to stay sober enough to look me in the eyes, the feeling still persisted. It does even more now that she’s gone.”</em>
</p><p><br/>
Erik let the distant mirage of blue eyes wash over him like a cold wave of seawater. The memory felt oddly yesterday, he could almost delude himself that this trip were merely for last-minute introspection, that things hadn’t taken such a colossal turn over the course of four years.</p><p><br/>
A tentative voice broke him off his train of thought. Erik felt every fibre of his body promptly react to it.</p><p><br/>
“Hello Erik.”</p><p><br/>
He turned, and found himself stripped bare of any balance the placidity might have induced. He had not seen Charles in years. Yet with one accord, memories flooded back, of golden days filled with chess pieces and carefree rivalry, of a heavy black coffin and a slump-shouldered short boy, of unspoken words and missed opportunities, of letters growing more and more occasional until eventually gone. Standing in front of him, Charles felt as illusory as he was real. Bathed in the faint saffrony glow, his eyes were almost transparent. His hair slightly long and ruffled just like old days; and all of a sudden Erik felt 15 again, fighting the urge to reach out and smooth out the shabby locks of the blue-eyed boy.</p><p><br/>
“Hi Charles,” he managed, the words came out hoarser than intended. For what felt like eternity, neither of them uttered a word. Erik’s hands were beginning to sweat even though it was 50℉ outdoors. He stole a glance at the other man, only to find the similar tenseness reflected in the droop of his shoulders.</p><p><br/>
Eventually, Charles was the one to break the silence.</p><p><br/>
“Rumours have it that the Erik Lehnsherr himself is getting married.” He tittered, head stooping to focus on the leaf he was trampling on with his the tip of his shoes. The crisp sheet had already been nudged and torn to smithereens. Erik couldn’t repress the ache jabbing at his heart for how young the gesture rendered Charles.</p><p><br/>
“Well they are not wrong as it is.” He played along and forced a laugh, “Astonishing how time flies.”</p><p><br/>
There was no mistaking to the slight crack in the azure of Charles’s eyes. His shuddering sigh was barely audible, yet as manifest to Erik as a needle pricking at his fingertip, making the blood ooze and stain the surrounding air.</p><p><br/>
“Would you like to come by my flat? It’s not far away, we can take the bus,” Charles bit his lower lip, another accustomed quirk whenever uncertainty got the better of him. Before Erik could form a reply, he shaked his head lightly, brown strands curled over his eyes, “You can’t possibly say no. My best friend is getting married, a toast is the least I can give him.”</p><p><br/>
-</p><p><br/>
“You’ve sold the mansion?” They stood outside Charles’s apartment, waiting for Charles to shuffle through a bunch of keys. The house was of a neo-classical architecture, with two columns supporting the roof over the entrance and pointed window frames. The intricate curves of the metal fence were lined with tiny yellow plumbago and bushes of white daisy. Small pots of purple-and-reddish flowers sat neatly on the windowsill, eminent against a backdrop of white stuccoed wall.</p><p><br/>
“Yes. After Kurt died and Cain left the country with his share of the inheritance, I saw no point in remaining there any longer. I was all by myself anyway, would have been challenging to keep that monstrosity of a house tidy.”</p><p><br/>
From where he was standing, Erik could only see Charles’s profile. Kurt Marko was a cold man with an even colder heart. Charles hadn’t liked talking about him, Erik hadn’t asked, acutely aware of the fact that he had encouraged to Sharon Xavier’s drinking problem.</p><p><br/>
“So yeah, I moved here.”</p><p><br/>
The door clicked open, Charles gestured him in, “Put your shoes here.”</p><p><br/>
The interior of the house was decorated in a warm beige with dark furniture. Where the white curtains were drawn up, sun rays weaved their way in, illuminating the living room and sketching erratic figures on the wooden floors. A pleasant citrusy scent filled the air, almost intangible in the crisp of autumn. He saw piles of books and notes scattered all over the place, in the corner next to the cactus pot, on the coffee table where a laptop was standing upright, to the left of the couch, holding up the remote control. Charles smiled abashedly at the sight, darted pass Erik to pick up the clutter, not even bothered to unwind his scarf.</p><p><br/>
“Do pardon the mess, I don’t have visitors all that frequently.”</p><p><br/>
“Oh, by all means I don’t mind.” Charles’s fluttering ignited something both resembled a throb and fond inside Erik’s ribcage. Some things just never changed.</p>
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